


The One I Call My Own

by pengiesama



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/pseuds/pengiesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikleo's waited this long -- a few minutes to have Sorey to himself would be nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One I Call My Own

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a drabble meme I did on tumblr, prompt “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

He’d been waiting 700 years. (743 years, 35 days, and 7 hours if you really wanted to argue specifics – and oh, there was no worse opponent than Mikleo when it came to arguing specifics.) He’d clung to Sorey’s memory through the ages, like a child frantic and despairing as their favorite security blanket became more threadbare – he could no longer remember their deepest, most heartfelt conversations, he could no longer remember the feeling of his lips, the touch of his hands on his cheek, the weight of his hand on his waist.

He would soon forget the sound of his voice and the color of his eyes. Mikleo thought it would be more merciful to become a dragon before it came to that, but the years marched on, and on, and on.

Sorey had dragged him out of that abyss in so many more ways than one. As Mikleo clung to him in those ruins, face hot and red and soaked with tears, hair a filthy mess, lungs heaving and sore with sobs, Mikleo could feel the life flowing back into him in the warmth of Sorey’s arms around him and the low, gentle ( _blissfully familiar, how could I forget the sound of my one and only, my own other half)_ sound of Sorey’s voice in his ear.

“I missed you too, Mikleo.”

Well, if that was the case, he could stand to show it a bit more now.

It seemed like every day he had to share Sorey with more and more people. At first, it was just Lailah, Edna, and Zaveid – it was no trouble then, and was a joy and pleasure incomparable to share with the few people who remembered Sorey so fondly. Then, it became sharing him with the town of Elysia – still no trouble – then, the new Shepherd – well, they needed all the guidance they could get, Mikleo knew – then it became sharing him with curious historians, pilgrims, dedicated followers of the many religious sects that Sorey had become a major figure in, artists and poets and playwrights who were clamoring to be the first to document the “conclusion” to Glenwood’s most famous historical love story.

(Rose had been the first to commission a play around Shepherd Sorey’s journey, and explained to Mikleo that she would tweak the story a bit – respectfully, of course – to appeal to audience sensibilities. This involved writing several musical duets between the actors playing him and Sorey, as well as a deeply embellished depiction of that unforgettable night in Lastonbell in the gardens, under the stars…where he was apparently wearing a glittering, sequined gown and danced above the town with Sorey on a sparkling floor of stars, while a choir of “seraphim” sang of love everlasting and faithful. Rose made billions of gald in merchandising alone during the first theatrical run of many, and it remained Glenwood’s oldest and most widely-performed musical extravaganza.

“I heard they made a new adaptation of The Shepherd’s Journey this year,” a young seraphim once told him. “They’re doing it on ice.”)

Mikleo was growing weary. He’d waited 743 years and some change to finally begin his life, and now he was having to share Sorey with every awestruck undergrad archaeologist that wandered up to Elysia with a phone. (Sorey was enamored with smartphones. Mikleo knew that if Sorey ever got a phone of his own it’d be broken within the hour, so he permitted him to play with his at night, as long as Sorey still petted his hair while he was otherwise occupied with Angry Normins, or whatever ridiculous thing he’d downloaded that week.)

Sorey’s hand had stopped petting his hair. Mikleo grunted and pinched Sorey in the side to regain his attention. Sorey’s hand slid from his unbound hair down to his chin, and tilted it up so Mikleo would meet his eyes.

“Mikleo. Has everything been alright lately?”

Mikleo’s eyes darted to the side. “Of course. Everything is wonderful. Everyone’s happy to see you. Lailah, Edna, Zaveid, everyone in Elysia, everyone in Glenwood and their cousins. I’ll have to run out to the store for more sugar if they all decide to swing by again tomorrow.”

Sorey put down Mikleo’s phone and cupped his face in both hands. “Are you jealous?”

Mikleo was far too old for games at this point. “How’d you figure.”

Sorey laughed, and before Mikleo could bristle at the slight, Sorey kissed at his pout so gently that he almost lost his train of thought. The gentle press of his lips as they moved against his, the almost-shy slips of his tongue, the way Sorey drew his lower lip into his mouth with a tiny nip of his teeth – how Mikleo went for centuries without this, Mikleo could barely remember. Mikleo made a tiny, frustrated whine as Sorey drew back, and Sorey kissed him on the nose in apology.

“Let’s hide out? Those ‘selfie’ things are fun, but I’m kinda tired of doing them with everyone who comes to see us. We can head out before the sun comes up and go camp out in some of those ruins you were writing about in the fourth volume of your book. We can go selfie down there. Or be selfie? Be very selfie?”

Sorey scratched at his nose, confused.

“I don’t get this lingo yet, sorry.”

Mikleo smiled and laughed, hiding his face against Sorey’s chest.

“You’ll get it eventually. We’ve got plenty of time.”


End file.
